


Take Me Home

by Black_Hole_of_Procrastination



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-29
Updated: 2016-04-29
Packaged: 2018-06-05 06:23:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6693046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black_Hole_of_Procrastination/pseuds/Black_Hole_of_Procrastination
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rickon does not want to be Lord of Winterfell, but for Sansa he is willing to try.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take Me Home

Rickon does not like White Harbor. There are too many people on it’s cobbled streets. Too many strange sights and sounds and smells. Too many rules that must be remembered.

Most days he wishes he was still in the cave with only Osha and Shaggy. Things were better there.

Osha says he should not be ungrateful to the the Manderlys. That he should be happy to be safe and fed and protected now that winter’s come. Rickon thinks she’s wrong. They were safe before. Rickon knew all the best spots to dig for clams and abalone, and could fish for them with his spear. And they had Osha’s knife and Shaggy to protect them. (He does not say any of this out loud, though, for he knows it will only make Osha cross).

Lord Wylis refuses to let Shaggydog inside the keep and will not let Rickon sleep in the kennels with his friend. Rickon hates the lord for it.

Still, he supposes White Harbor is not _all_ bad.

Rickon likes Lady Wylla, who tells him stories of the sea and is not at all afraid of Shaggy and has hair that makes Rickon think of the tiny frog he once caught in the woods with his bare hands.

He likes Lady Wynafryd even more. She visits him often, sneaking Rickon sweetmeats and honeycakes before supper with a wink and a smile. Sometimes she brings her high harp and sings. Rickon likes that best of all.

He begs her to sing for Shaggy too. She does, allowing Rickon to help carry her harp on the walk to the kennels. The song she sings is a silly one, something about a bear, but Shaggy likes it. Rickon can tell, for the wolf stops gnawing at his hindquarters to watch Lady Wynafryd pluck her harp, his long tongue lolling out of his mouth.

In exchange, Rickon agrees to allow Lady Wynafryd to dress him in kneeler’s clothes and cut his hair. He grumbles at losing his furs, but secretly is happy that his new tunic and breeches do not itch so very much and that his hair no longer gets in his eyes when he tries to run after Shaggy. He refuses surrender his necklace of bones and shells, however, no matter how sweet Lady Wynafryd pleads with him.

“Ser Davos wears bones around his neck and he is a lord and Hand to the _King_!” he says, when Wynafryd tries to argue that lords do not wear such things.

(Once, Rickon overhears Wylla say _he_ is their king. It makes Lady Wynafryd upset and that makes Rickon angry. Rickon does not think he should like to be a king, though if he were one, he would eat honeycakes every day, and make Lord Davos his Hand and Lady Wynafryd his Queen, and then force Lord Wylis sleep in the kennels while Shaggy took his featherbed!)

On warmer days, Wylla sometimes dresses Rickon in his cloak and takes him to the ramparts to watch the ships in the harbor. They are all much bigger than the boat he sailed on with Lord Davos, and Rickon wishes he could see one up close. Osha does not like the sea. It makes her sick and as green as Wylla’s hair. But Rickon dreams of captaining his own ship and sailing to all the places in Wylla’s stories. Lord Wylis has promised that Rickon may name the next galley they add to their fleet and he likes the lord somewhat better for it. 

Rickon is afraid when he wakes one morning to find two guards outside his door. Osha says he should not worry, that they are Manderly guards and are there to protect him, but Rickon knows something must be wrong. 

From his window, he has a view of the harbor. He notices there are more ships there than there were the day before. They are larger than the merchant ships they are moored alongside, with strange banners flying over each them. Blue with a bird stitched onto them. 

Lady Wylla comes to his rooms along with a basket of bread and cheese and dried fruit for his noontime meal. She will not tell him about the ships, but instead eats and coaxes him into a game of who catch pieces of dried apple in their mouth. He is much better than her and catches six pieces in all before Osha comes and tuts over the fruit he’s scattered on the ground. 

Wylla stays after and reads to him from one of her books of stories. She tries to get Rickon to recognize some of the letters but he is much more interested in the illuminated pictures of ships and sea creatures on the opposite page. He falls asleep there, tucked into Wylla’s side, a book stretched open between them.

The sun has already set when he is summoned to The Merman’s Court. He is groggy with sleep, but he takes Wylla’s hand, Osha following a few steps behind. 

Lord Wylis is in the hall waiting, Lady Leona and Lady Wynafryd too, but the others Rickon does not recognize. 

There are several unfamiliar men seated round the table. Each wears a cloak the same color as the banners Rickon had seen flying above the ships in the harbor. They do not wear swords at their hips but he is still frightened by these strangers. 

A man in Manderly colors announces Rickon and Wylla. The hall falls silent as every eye turns their way.

He wants to tear free of Wylla’s hold on his hand and crawl into Wynafryd’s lap or shrink back and hide in Osha’s skirts, but he stays where he stands, the tightening of his hand around Wylla’s the only sign of his fear. 

“Rickon?”

The voice is soft and Rickon is not quite sure where it comes from until the sound of chair legs roughly scrapping against the flagstones draw his eye to a lady seated beside Lord Wylis.

She is very pretty, with red plaited hair and blue eyes, and she is crying.

_Mother._

Rickon does not hesitate now. He yanks his hand from Wylla’s hold and stumbles forward, tripping over his boots in his haste to get to her. She is running for him too, her skirts and cloak flying behind her. 

They meet somewhere in the middle. She falls to the ground and pulls him into her arms. Her grip is painfully tight but Rickon does not care. He clings to her even tighter, burying his face in shoulder and neck. 

“It’s truly you!” he hears her say. “I’ve found you! Little brother, I’ve found you!”

He is crying too now and he tries to hide his tears and slobbery hiccoughs in the fabric of her cloak.

“Please don’t leave! Don’t leave! Don’t leave!” he sobs.

She pulls away, cupping his face in her hands.

“Oh Rickon,” she says, her blue eyes wide and sad and rimmed with red from crying. “I won’t leave you again, sweet boy. I promise.”

She kisses the crown of his head before pulling him back to nestle against her. He bunches her cloak in his fists and holds tight. 

He won’t let her go now. _Not ever._


End file.
